Little Chickadee
by whatifellinlovewith
Summary: Beckett has an Easter surprise for her husband.


_**Little Chickadee**_

* * *

When she imagined this moment, it was never like this. It was never this cheesy, this sappy. It was never this day, although admittedly with this man. It was never this, never in her wildest dreams, never her wild but tampered imagination, never in any part of her did she think that this moment would go anything like this, anything like it is.

Although the moments when she let herself think of this were few and far between, a fleeting moment in high school, a second in college, a painful minute after her mother's death, since she met him, they were more frequent, more acceptable. She would sit in their bed, his hand in hers, and wonder what it would be like to have his hand on her stomach, feeling their baby. She stood at their wedding and realized that in the near enough future, their family would grow. She would lie in bed next to him, limber, sated, and wonder how one decided to _try _for a baby, how Ryan and Jenny made the decision to try.

And today, here she stands, letting her imagination run wild. She's standing at the kitchen table and realizing that they'll have to add a high chair to the mix. She's looking into the kitchen and smiling at the idea of having bottles of milk and jars of baby food scattered across the counter. She's looking in direction of their bedroom and wondering what will happen when he wakes up, how many sleepless nights they'll spend in that very room with their baby.

She smiles to herself, brushes her fingers across the very bottom of her stomach, eyes locked on the table in front of her. _He'll love this, _she thinks. _He'll be happy. He'll be really happy. _Her smile widens, cheeks aching, and though her stomach aches, churns with morning sickness, she can't help how happy she is. She can't help it, because she knows he'll be happy, too.

On the dark, wooden table in front of her sits all the supplies she needs for her plan. There's a medium sized woven basket, that fake string-y straw stuff to fill it and different colored ribbons.. There's a bag of the cheap, bargain brand chocolate and another bag of easter-themed M&amp;Ms. There's a chocolate bunny, wrapped in childish foil that she saw at the store and instantly decided her would like, a pink bunny with big, chubby cheeks. There's a big bag of jelly beans and there's those plastic eggs that parents hide of their children, all different colors, a few different sizes, waiting o be filled.

But the most importantly, there's the picture. Black and white and fuzzy. The image small, a black, blurry background, a lighter oval, shaped like a jelly bean. An even smaller, even lighter dot in the very center. The photo, black and white and grey and blurry an fuzzy and perfect. Her baby. Their baby.

She gets it all ready, arranges it perfectly. Places the plastic, decorative straw. Opens the net bag of foil-wrapped chocolate eggs, drops them randomly into the basket. Sets the chocolate bunny at the back of the basket, leaning against the edge. She fills the plastic eggs with jelly beans and M&amp;Ms, placing them within the basket, tilting them like they're sitting on the bumps of a normal, grassy terrain.

She fills the final egg carefully, the bottom with some of the green, plastic straw, curves the ultrasound photo around the interior of the egg, writes a little something for him on the bottom. He'll understand, that much she knows. He'll understand and he'll be happy and they're having a baby and, really, she's rather certain that this egg makes absolutely no difference, that this basket is irrelevant, really, and yet her heart is telling her that it's sweet and cute and _right_.

The basket finished, a bow tied around her special little egg, another, bigger bow tied around the basket's handle, when she places it perfectly on the edge of the table, shifts it left and right until it's to her absolute satisfaction, smiles at her creation and leaves the kitchen. She makes her way to their bedroom, bare feet and pastel green pyjamas that she never wears but that he insisted were _perfect _for Easter.

She walks over to his side of the bed, where he's lying on his back, sound asleep. For a minute, she debates just waiting in the living room until he's ready to wake up on his own, but her heart clenches with excitement, fingers rubbing together in anticipation, and she realizes that she _really _doesn't want to wait. Besides, she knows that he won't mind. If anything, he'll be exceptionally happy that she didn't make him wait.

She climbs onto the bed next to him, kneels on the mattress, hands pressed against his chest. Leaning down towards, him, she brushes her lips against the shell of his ear, purposefully breathes against his sensitive skin and smiles when, still asleep, he winces and turns away from her.

"Castle," she whispers to him. "It's time to wake up, babe. I have an Easter surprise for you."

It doesn't take long before his eyes are drifting open, hands reaching out for her. His fingers curl around her sides, his lips curving into a smile, and before he can fully wake up, she leans down to press a gentle kiss to his lips. He hums against her kiss, squeezes her hips, pulls her down, towards him. She accepts the slide of his lips against hers for a moment, lets him hold her, silently tells him how much she loves him, before pulling away, pressing against his chest and hopping off the bed.

"Come on," she tells him, noting the way his eyes widen at her excitement, at her playfulness. "Your surprise is in the kitchen." She leaves him in the bedroom, walks through the office, settles into one of the living room's arm chairs to wait.

He joins her within a minute, hair a ruffled mess, wearing a yellow t-shirts and a pair of pastel blue pyjama pants. She insisted he wear them after her insisted she wear her green pyjamas. His brows furrow when he spots her, but all she does is smile up at him, jumping off the chair, reaching out for his hand. He lets her lead him into the kitchen, not bothering to question her, so she does, pulls him through the living room and into the dining room, where the basket still sits on the table.

His eyes go wide when he sees it, just like a little kid. He releases her hand, jaw dropping open and turns to her, smiling wide. "You made me an Easter basket?" he asks. She smiles up at him and nods, motioning to the basket on the table. He follows her lead, reaches for the egg with the bow, most likely because it stands out, and lifts it from the nest of plastic straw. His fingers gently tug on the end of the ribbon, pulling the bow loose, and she smiles in anticipation.

It's obvious, the moment he sees the egg's contents. His eyes go wide in awe, fingers shaking as he reaches into the green, plastic container. He pulls the picture out, drops the egg back into the basket and holds the blurry black and white image in front of him, staring at it in what she can only describe as wonderment.

When he turns to her, she's ready to answer his questions, not in any way prepared for the hug he sweeps her into, lifting her body off the ground, burying his face in her neck. She smiles at his glee, knots her fingers through his hair, holds him as tightly as he's holding her. She laughs into the air around them, laughs with joy, laughs with happiness, laughs with everything she's been containing since the day the pregnancy test turned out positive. He joins her, laughing with her, with excitement, real and pure and unadulterated in its happiness.

When he puts her back down, she stumbles, watching as he arranges the egg in the basket again.

"What are you doing?" she asks, reaching out for his arm.

He lifts the basket off the table, holds it out to her. She curls her fingers around the basket, hold it against her stomach as he tries to arrange the picture inside the egg, so it's still visible. When he's unsuccessful, he grabs her hand, leads her into the living room, gently presses against her shoulders until she sitting on one of the armchairs. He takes a seat next to her adjusts the basket on her lap, holds the picture out to her. Despite her confusion, she takes one end, and he holds onto the other as he reaches into his back pocket, pulls out his cellphone.

"What are you doing?" she repeats.

He presses a gentle kiss to her lips. "We're taking a picture, to remember this moment. And when we tell people, not today, but whenever we decide to, we can send it to all our friends and family and they'll all know that we made a baby, Kate. It'll be cute," he promises.

She stares at him for a moment, fights the urge to roll her eyes at how undeniable cheesy that will be. But then she remembers that she told him she's pregnant with an Easter basket, and suddenly it seems a lot less cheesy. Instead, the idea has her smiling, nodding her head as she leans into him presses another kiss to his lips.

* * *

A month later, they send out the picture, his arm wrapped around her, both of them wearing their pyjamas, smiles wide and happy, the ultrasound picture held between their fingers, between them.

On the bottom of the picture, in the white space, is written, in her big, clear penmanship: _Our Little Chickadee._

* * *

**Thank you for reading this little piece of Easter fluff.**


End file.
